


So Good At Being In Trouble, So Bad At Being In Love

by myryry



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Character Death, Romance, Starts in Third Grade Before Time Jump, Stydia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-01-03 23:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12157128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myryry/pseuds/myryry
Summary: When Stiles can’t focus on what’s happening in class, he can somehow focus on Lydia. He absorbs details about her, notices things he doesn’t think anyone else does. He sees the way she reads ahead of the teacher and never raises her hand to participate. He catches the way she always has the right answers written down but always lies to Jackson when he turns around and asks her what she got. He notices the way she looks so sad when she smiles sometimes.She becomes a mystery to him, the little pieces of her all so unique and never adding up. Lydia's a riddle he quickly becomes obsessed with solving.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prologue for a new story that I hope you enjoy. Please let me know what you think! I hope everyone will still be interested in Teen Wolf/Stydia after the finale - I have a couple of stories I'm planning to post coming up.

On the first day of third grade, Stiles finds his name card on a desk in the very back row all the way in the corner. Frantically his eyes scan the name cards on the desks around him and he absolutely panics when none of them read _Scott_.

He whips his head up and instantly finds his best friend on the opposite side of the room as far away as he can possibly be seated, wearing a matching look of horror when their eyes meet across the room.

In a huff he drops into his desk, crossing his arms and pouting as the other students find their names and take their seats. He’s deep in a panic spiral, convinced it will be the worst year ever, when someone slides into the seat next to him.

Lydia Martin.

He sighs to himself because he guesses she’s okay but he’s never really talked to her and they don’t have any of the same friends and she always spends recess with Jackson and Danny who are _mean_.

Then she glances over and smiles at him with the morning sun is shining in her eyes and skimming through her hair from the nearby window.

He smiles back and feels his cheeks heat up, though he doesn’t really understand why.

She turns away too fast and straightens her notebooks and Stiles just watches her, his heart thumping in a way it never has before.

Stiles spends a lot of his time watching Lydia after that. When he can’t focus on what’s happening in class he can somehow focus on her. He absorbs details about her, notices things he doesn’t think anyone else does. He sees the way she reads ahead of the teacher during class and never raises her hand to participate. He notices the way she always has the right answers written on her papers but always lies to Jackson when he turns around and asks her what she got. He sees the way she looks so sad when she smiles sometimes.

She becomes a mystery to him, the little pieces of her that are so unique and never add up, a riddle he starts obsessing over solving.

“Maybe you should actually talk to her sometime,” his mother suggests with a smile after listening to him ramble on and on about the great Lydia Martin for the hundredth time. “Then you could get to know her rather than wondering about her all the time. It sounds like she doesn’t really talk to that many people.”

He rolls his eyes, insisting, “You don’t understand, Mom.”

But part of him quickly starts to think maybe his mom has a point.

Somedays Lydia walks in to class laughing with Danny or Jackson and somedays she walks in by herself and smiles at him before class starts.

Other days she doesn’t smile at anyone.

Those are the days he is just bursting to talk to her. He wants more than anything to make her smile when she looks so sad but his voice always catches in his throat with nerves before he can even get a word out.

So he decides he needs an excuse to talk to her for the first time and quickly devises a plan. One night, as soon as his dad closes his door after tucking him in, he sneaks out of bed and empties his backpack on the floor, pulling out all of his pencils and hiding them under the bed so he can ask to borrow one from Lydia the next day. It’s the perfect plan, simple and easy, and he falls asleep stringing together a thousand different conversations in his mind.

When she comes in the next morning though something is different. She won’t look at anyone as she shuffles to her desk with a miserable look on her face and Jackson snickers at her cruelly when he arrives only a couple of minutes later.

It keeps him silent and he hides his hands during class, planning to borrow a pencil from Scott at lunch. He’s chewing hard on his lip when he feels a tap on his shoulder and looks up to meet Lydia’s green, watery eyes before she quickly drops her gaze. That’s when he notices her hand stretched out in his direction, offering up a sparkly, bright pink pencil. His fingers are shaking as he takes it and he tries to smile at her in thanks, his mind racing to figure out what to say, but she won’t look at him and give him the chance. 

His heart falls as she simply turns back to face the front of class, her hands clasping in her lap and her teeth digging into her bottom lip. Something is very wrong, he’s sure of it, especially when he sees her textbook closed and the paper in front of her completely blank. But just like all the other days during the first couple months of third grade, thought he wants to say something to her, he has no idea what.

It doesn’t take long for the story to spread through the whole class. By the end of recess he’s heard all about Lydia’s mother; how she was found naked and screaming in the woods last night. It’s all anyone can talk about. 

A day later Mrs. Martin moves into Eichen house and the talking turns into teasing. Whispers and laughter follow Lydia everywhere and she bears it as well as she can, silently with a far off look in her eyes. 

Stiles wishes he’d talked to her before all this happened. Something about it feels weird now, not because he cares about all the gossip, but because the last thing he wants her to think is that he’s only doing it because he feels bad for her.

Suddenly she’s always alone. At recess and at lunch, hiding her face behind giant books, no longer bothering to hide how smart she is from the rest of their class.

Scott stays home with the flu one day and for once Stiles is alone too. That’s when he gathers the courage to settle a few feet down the wall from Lydia at recess, his cheeks bright red as he quietly pulls out a comic book to read whiles she continues to work through her novel. 

He does the same thing at lunch, sitting silently at her abandoned table. He tries to read again but he can’t focus on the words, can only watch Lydia out of the corner of his eye. Not even for a moment does she pull her gaze from her book, her food untouched on the plastic tray next to her. The bell rings and she gets up and walks away without even acknowledging his presence and Stiles’s stomach sinks as he watches her throw away the entirety of her lunch before heading back to class.

The rest of the day passes by too slowly, in a haze of anxiety as he wonders if he’ll ever be able to figure out a way to talk to her or if he’ll always be stuck sitting there silently.

At the final bell of the day, he grudgingly packs up his stuff as the other students hurry out, glancing toward Lydia for the thousandth time when he startles at finding himself looking straight into bright green. Instantly he freezes, the sound of his heartbeat drowning out everything else as he watches the corner of Lydia’s mouth quirk up in a small smile at him. Before he can respond she’s sliding out of her desk and heading for the door, and all he can do is stare after her as she disappears.

Sneaking out of the house early the next morning, Stiles tracks his way through the front yard and into the garden, stepping through the dirt and inspecting the different flowers until he finds exactly the ones he’s looking for. He kneels on the ground and unzips his backpack, pulling out his Spiderman scissors to cut the stems.

“Stiles? You ready?”

“Yeah, Mom! Just a second!”

He pulls out a little piece of yarn he’d cut from his mom’s craft supplies and ties it around the little bundle, double knotting it together tight.

“Stiles, let’s go!”

“Okay! I’m coming!” he quickly calls back, shoving everything into his bag before throwing it over his shoulder and jogging across the yard to the driveway.

“What were you doing out there?” his mother asks from where she sits in the driver’s side of the Jeep with the window wide open and an amused smirk on her lips.

“Nothing,” he quickly answers as he avoids his mother’s gaze and rounds the vehicle to climb inside. “Don’t we have to go?”

“Yeah, we better not make you late for meeting whoever the lucky recipient of my daisies is.”

“Mom,” he groans, his cheeks heating up.

“Fine, fine. I won’t say anything else,” she promises as she starts up the Jeep. “It’s just adorable, that’s all.”

“Moooom,” he groans again even louder, throwing back his head in frustration, but she just laughs, ruffling his hair as she heads toward the school.

Usually he goes inside with Scott to play Pokemon until they have to go to class but today he waits outside, tapping his knee anxiously as he sits on a bench by the front doors.

He doesn’t know what her car looks like so he watches every one that pulls up with rapt attention. He’s starting to get worried that she’s not going to show up today when an SUV pulls up with it’s windows tinted. The large door swings precariously open and Lydia hops out of vehicle with her purple backpack on her shoulders, looking back to wave at the driver with a hopeful look in her eyes, hesitating for reasons Stiles doesn’t understand before she finally closes the door.

He pops up from the bench as soon as she turns around, stepping in her path before she can get by.

“Hi,” he blurts, ruddy-faced and shaking. 

Her green eyes are surprised at first but they quickly cloud over with uncertainty as she scrutinizes him. “Hi, Stiles.”

His heart soars along with his confidence when she says his name, a grin spreading across his face. “I, uh— I h-have something for you.”

She raises a brow at him as he quickly pulls off his backpack, unzipping it in a rush. He pulls out the tiny bouquet of daisies and his grin fades at the state of it, the majority of the petals smushed or broken.

“Oh,” he breathes, his shoulders slumping. “S-Sorry. They were really pretty before, when I picked them. The petals are the same color as the pencil you let me use, remember? So I— I thought maybe that was your favorite color and— well — I guess I maybe should have held them instead of—“

Suddenly there are arms around him and it takes a moment to process that they are Lydia’s— that she’s hugging him. His mind goes blank and his whole face burns bright red as he automatically inhales the scent of her hair. Before he can think to hug her back she’s already pulled back, a smile tugging at her lips as she stands before him.

Mouth suddenly dry, he swallows roughly and holds out the flowers to her. “Here.”

She presses her lips together as she takes them, her fingers toying with the red string holding them together. “Thank you.”

He nods and smiles shyly back at her as the bell rings out around them. Silently he follows her through the school to the classroom and to their seats, beaming when he watches her carefully hide away the flowers inside her desk for safe keeping.

At recess, he sits next to her while she reads her novel and Scott sits on his other side, the two of them reading comic books from Stiles’s personal collection.

At lunch, Stiles leads them to Lydia’s abandoned table on the outskirts of the cafeteria. The boys descend into a huge argument about Spiderman and Batman and it’s only when he hears a muffled giggle after one of the points he makes that he realizes Lydia has set aside her book to listen to them instead. It makes him feel all funny inside and his smile grow wider, though he’s not really sure why.

The clock is ticking closer to the end of the day and Stiles has counted three times Lydia smiled at him since lunch and one time she covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a laugh at a face he made at her when Mrs. Anderson was writing on the board. Honestly, it’s turning out to be one of the best days he can remember, up there with the day Scott got a Playstation or when the day his dad took him to a Mets game.

Ms. Anderson is in the middle of a lesson on the multiplication tables when a knock on the door stops her, the principle stepping inside and lingering in the archway.

“Sorry to interrupt but could I please have a word with Ms. Martin?”

Lydia’s eyes widen as the room erupts into whispers. Nervously she slides out of her seat, heading to the front as the teacher silences the students.

“Ms. Martin? I’m going to need you to bring your things too.”

Suddenly Lydia looks panicked, her eyes darting to Stiles’s before quickly falling at the ground as she heads back to her desk and collects her things. All the eyes in the room are on her as she packs her bag, her cheeks flushing pink as their gazes burn into her. The last thing she does is pull out the flowers, carefully fitting them into her fist before turning around without a glance at anyone, not even Stiles.

He waits for her outside before school the next morning, kicking anxiously at the ground until the final bell rings and he’s forced to head in without her.

The next day she doesn’t show up either, her desk devastatingly empty at his side for the second day in a row. Then for a third.

It seems like no one else notices. No one seems to care.

He’s mistaken though, because apparently there’s a great interest in what’s going on with Lydia, as evidenced by the crowd surrounding Jackson at recess. Stiles and Scott edge up to the group as the blonde boy announces with amusement, “Psychotic Mrs. Martin is dead!”

Stiles’s stomach swirls with the news, so suddenly overcome with a wave of anxiety and sadness that he thinks he might puke. He doubles over and swallows back bile and suddenly all he can hear is Jackson laughing. _Laughing_ because Lydia’s mom died.

He rushes forward without thinking, just reacting, tackling Jackson onto the wood-chipped playground floor with a fury he’s never felt before. Their classmates form a circle as the two boys start to wrestle, kicking and punching each other furiously as they roll around on the ground.

Eventually a teacher pulls them apart, holding them at arms length while they huff and puff and glare at each other. Stiles’s nose is bloody and Jackson’s cheek is bruised, but when the teacher demands an explanation both of them keep their mouths shut.

Stiles remains silent when his Dad picks him up from the principal’s office and then when his parents sit him down at the kitchen table later that afternoon. He says nothing, just presses his lips together as his eyes well up.

“You know you can tell us anything, Mischief.” His mother reaches out and brushes her fingers through his hair soothingly. “I promise. We just want to understand what happened.”

Still he remains silent, biting his lip as he looks at the ground.

The sheriff sighs, leaning forward in his chair. “Kiddo, please—“

“Is Lydia okay?”

Both of the adults go still at the quiet question, exchanging quick, worried glances.

“Oh, sweetheart—“

“Is she?”

His mother’s hand settles across his shoulder. “She’ll be okay, sweetie. Right now, she’s probably having a really tough time and I’m sure she’s very sad. But eventually, she’ll be okay. Lydia will be back at school before you know it and she’ll need a friend more than ever.”

His brow furrows as he absorbs the words and thinks them over before he lifts his gaze to meet his mother’s.

“Maybe I could pick her more flowers? For when she comes back to school?”

“That sounds like a great idea, kid,” his father says with a sad smile, “but it might be a little bit before she’s back.”

He shrugs. “I’ll be ready when she is.”

And he is ready, a handful of flowers always tucked into his desk. 

Days pass and he trades them out for new flowers when the old ones turn brown and dry. A week goes by and another bunch makes it’s home next to his notebooks and pencils. A month slowly ticks past and four more crudely made bouquets wilt away while he struggles to focus, constantly fidgeting and peaking over at the empty seat next to him.

_She’s not coming back._

The thought has been seeping into the back of his mind slowly but doesn’t sink in until he’s standing in his mother’s garden surrounded by nothing but dirt and stems. 

There’s no more flowers just like there’s no more Lydia.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos! I really appreciate it! The timeline in this chapter jumps ahead to junior year (3A) and mostly everything up until this point for Stiles is the same as what happened in the show while Lydia's life is completely different. Hope you enjoy it!

The body at the pool. Heather. Emily.

All of them with their throats slashed, heads bashed in, and strangled.

Stiles _knows_ they are all sacrifices, each and every one of them.

The problem is Isaac is just as sure it’s all just the twins killing people for no reason other than they can.

And while Stiles doesn’t believe that the twins are the ones perpetrating the sacrifices, he can’t rule out the possibility that they could have something to do with it. Not when Scott has found the scent of both of werewolves along with something distinctly feminine where each of the bodies were found. Not when Ethan is already standing next to a fourth body, staring at it like it’s a puzzle when the rest of the lacrosse team stumbles upon it.

There’s a pattern, Stiles is sure there is. The first three were virgins but the fourth sacrifice doesn’t seem to fit the same narrative.

So he covers his walls in photos, news clippings, and string and _obsesses_. 

He barely sleeps. He’s always jumpy. His mind is constantly overwrought with a consuming, crushing fear that something terrible is about to happen and he’s determined to be ready when it does.

Morel had called it hypervigilance and it’s quickly become his normal way of functioning. Researching even minuscule detail and following every possible lead is the only way he can get through the day without collapsing in on himself under the weight of all his many neuroses. 

Another day passes and another body is found, the music teacher tied to a tree in a park downtown with the twin’s scent lingering while a sheriff’s deputy takes pictures. But there’s still a hint of something else.

“Another werewolf?” Stiles proposes late that night, scrolling through the local news on his computer looking for clues.

Scott shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. It just smelled like a girl. Like perfume, actually.”

“Like Dior.”

Stiles narrows his eyes on Isaac. “How the hell would you know what _Dior_ smells like?”

“Some of us have taste.”

“Oh, _come on_ —“

Abruptly both werewolves grimace in sheer agony out of absolutely nowhere, both of them covering their ears and cowering to the ground.

Stiles reaches out and grabs his best friend’s shoulder frantically. “Scotty?”

Their wincing stops as abruptly as it started, leaving them wide eyed and panting as they look at each other in awe.

“What the hell just happened?” Stiles demands, his gaze darting between the two of them.

“I don’t know.” Scott swallows roughly. “It — It sounded like a scream.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Isaac agrees. “A really fucking loud one.”

“Well, we should follow it then and find out who — or _what_ — it was. It could be another sacrifice,” Stiles immediately takes control of the situation, pushing himself up from his desk. “Think you can pin point where it came from?”

“I don’t know—”

“I can,” Scott says confidently, eyes flashing yellow. “It was by the preserve. It had to be.”

“Great. Looks like we’re getting another lead, boys.” Stiles slaps each of them on the back and leads the way out of his room and down the stairs. “Mom, I’m headed out! Be back in awhile!”

“Wait, wait, wait!” his mother calls back from somewhere deep in the house and Stiles groans as they halt by the front door and reluctantly wait for her to follow after. “Now just where are the three of you headed off to?”

He shrugs innocently. “Just to the preserve.”

“The preserve? At 10 o’clock?” She raises a brow. “Stiles, I thought we said no more of these supernatural rendezvous on school nights.”

“No, you and dad said that. I said I can’t tell some supernatural creature they need to schedule their supernaturally evil activities around the mundane schedule of a teenager.”

“Stiles…” Claudia sighs and warily eyes her son.

“Mom…” he mimics back with a groan. “I’ll be careful, I swear.”

She scoffs and crosses her arms, unconvinced.

“I’ll make sure he’s careful,” Scott quietly interjects.

The corner of Claudia’s mouth ticks up as her gaze shifts to her son’s best friend. “Thank you, Scott.”

Stiles lets out a sharp, derisive noise of disbelief as his mother softens at Scott’s assurance and gives the werewolf a motherly pat on the shoulder.

“Oh, of course, when Scott says it you believe him…”

“Exactly,” his mother teases, her smile widening before she pulls him into a hug. “Be safe, Mischief.”

Nodding, Stiles hugs her back, warmth in his chest at the old familiar nickname.

“All of you be safe, okay?” Claudia tells the three of them sternly as she steps back. “And call your father if something happens, alright? He’s on the night shift again.”

“Will do, mom,” he assures her, quickly leaning and and kissing her cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”

He pulls back and follows Scott and Isaac out into the pouring rain, running for the jeep.

They speed across town and trace to the perimeter of the familiar woods, the werewolves with their noses out the windows.

“The rain is masking everything,” Isaac complains. “I can’t catch a sent.”

“I can’t either. Just go the entrance.”

Stiles nods and follows Scott’s direction, pulling the Jeep up to the chained sign blocking the road in. He puts it into park and turns on his brights, illuminating first few yards of the dense forest. Immediately he catches on a shadow moving slowly between the trees and flails to grab at Scott’s arm.

“Uh, what the hell is that?”

The werewolves’ gaze follow to where he nods to and their eyes glow as they focus in.

“It’s a girl.”

“A girl? A _human_ girl? Or some kind of werewolf-kanima-witch —“

“I don’t know, Stiles,” Scott cuts in, rolling his eyes, “but she’s coming this way.”

The wolves open their doors and Stiles lets out a scoff of frustration. “And we’re just going to walk right up to her without any kind of a plan?” Scott and Isaac ignore him and climb out of the car slamming the doors behind them and leaving Stiles to follow, muttering, “Yep. That’s exactly what we’re going to do. That’s just great.”

He quickly catches up with his friends, stopping at Scott’s side as they wait at the base of the muddy path. Stiles narrows his gaze at the approaching figure until it’s illuminated by the Jeep’s headlights enough that he can see for himself it really is a girl, absolutely drenched in a thin nightgown with her long hair a heavy curtain on either side of her face.

Stiles’s heart jumps into his throat because he _knows_ that girl.

Hesitantly he steps closer, heart pounding as the details of her become clearer, all of them just as beautiful as he remembers.

 _“Lydia?”_ he whispers in awe, so quiet only the werewolves hear him.

Scott’s eyebrows jump and he snaps his gaze to his best friend in question before looking back at the girl with recognition slowly lighting in his eyes.

“Lydia?” Stiles repeats louder and she goes still at the sound of her name.

Her green eyes narrow on him briefly and then widen, her lower lip trembling before she presses her mouth into a thin line.

His mind races with a million questions he should be asking her about sacrifices and that scream and what the hell she’s doing in Beacon Hills’ Preserve or in Beacon Hills at all but all that comes out is a quiet, stuttered, “Are — Are you okay?”

Her answer is silence and an almost imperceptible softening of her gaze, a small shiver moving through her as she hugs her bare arms over the front of her soaked nightgown.

Without a thought Stiles flails his arms out, rushing to pull off his flannel to give to her when another car pulls up. It’s headlights are bright and illuminate the scene even more, revealing Lydia’s bare, dirty feet and the mud on her knees. He freezes with his flannel halfway off, brow knotted as a fresh wave of questions rushes to the forefront of his mind.

The doors of the second car open and Ethan and Aiden step out into the fading rain, completely ignoring Scott, Stiles, and Isaac as they move past them to Lydia as if they somehow know her. Which it becomes confusingly apparent to Stiles that they do, in fact, know her, especially when Aiden pulls off his jacket and holds it out unceremoniously to Lydia.

Stiles shoots Scott a questioning look and the werewolf gives him a subtle nod, confirming without needing to be asked that the mysterious feminine scent from all the other sacrifices is here. It’s Lydia.

“Where is it?” Aiden demands once she’s shrugged his jacket over her thin frame.

Lydia looks uncertainly at Scott’s pack but when Aiden doesn’t back down she just rolls her eyes turns around, slowly leading the five boys into the woods.

It’s not long before they reach a large tree, only the dim light from the crescent moon peaking out from the rescinding clouds illuminating the body tied to it. 

The boys all recognize it immediately. 

_Harris._

“It’s the same,” Lydia explains to Ethan and Aiden with a voice that’s raspy and low and leaves Stiles breathless. “It’s the same as all the others.”

Ethan steps forward to inspect the body, eyes glowing as he takes in the slashed throat and bashed in skull. 

Usually Stiles is the one in Scott’s pack that steps forward to do the inspecting in these situations being the brains of the operation and all, but he can’t seem to do anything but watch Lydia, stuck on trying to figure out her piece in all of this. Eventually Scott nudges him forward and he snaps out of it, moving toward the body and quickly confirming the three fold death.

Lydia sighs, obviously annoyed this group of boys had the nerve to not take her word for it, but when she looks at him her eyes are somehow soft. Their gazes lock for a beat too long before she looks pointedly away and launches into an explanation that is nearly identical to the one Stiles had received earlier from Deaton about ancient druids and darachs. Of course he’s impressed but there’s something about it, about her knowing all of this, that bothers him in a way he can’t quite define.

“And you just happened to be taking a late night stroll in a torrential downpour and stumbled upon it? You scream loud enough to nearly rupture our eardrums from miles away on accident?” Isaac suddenly bites out, glowing eyes staring down Lydia and then narrowing on the twins. “You really expect us to believe you have nothing to do with this?”

Aiden slings his arm around Lydia’s shoulders in a way that is both protective and possessive, his eyes red and challenging and the growing pit of _bother_ in the pit of Stiles’s stomach multiplies. Partly, he’ll admit, because he knows it’s something a boyfriend would do but even more so because he’s suddenly so sure she’s part of their pack. Both conclusions set his anxiety on high alert. 

“She didn’t do this.” 

Ethan stands strong in support of his brother’s statement. “We want to find out who is doing this just as much as you do.” 

“Maybe more so,” Stiles comments before he can help himself, and all eyes jump to him. He shrugs like it’s obvious. “Well it can’t be a coincidence that someone started making sacrifices the moment your pack rolls into town. It has to be part of something bigger.”

“Preparations.” Lydia studies Stiles carefully as she says the word, oblivious to the eyes of all the other boys that turn to stare at her. “For battle.” 

 

———

 

The next morning the twin’s familiar black Corvette pulls up to the school but today it’s Lydia in the driver’s seat, dropping them off at the front entrance before taking off.

“She graduated from high school last year,” Stiles shares his findings from an all night research session as he and Scott watch the car turn out of the parking lot. “As a _sophomore_.”

“You always said she was smart.”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t realize she was a genius. Like, _literally_ a genius. Her IQ in 170.”

Scott furrows his brow as he starts toward the school. “That’s high?”

“Yeah, Scotty, that’s high,” Stiles snorts, trailing after his best friend. “What doesn’t add up is why she’s here then. She should be off at some prestigious school working on becoming a Nobel laureate right now instead of wandering through the woods at night finding dead bodies.”

“And screaming,” Scott adds in. “Like her mom.”

Stiles sighs to himself, nodding solemnly in concession. “Yeah. Yeah, like her mom. But there’s something else. Something that could mean a lot.”

“What?” 

They finally reach their English class, exchanging polite smiles with Ms. Blake as they make their way to their seats.

“An animal attack about five years ago, at the start of sixth grade.” He shuffles through his backpack and pulls out a few wrinkled pieces of paper, handing over the stolen medical records. “She had a reaction to it that they couldn’t explain and she kept going into shock. She almost died.”

Scott looks over the papers and raises a brow. “You think it was a werewolf?”

“Or something,” he concludes with conviction. “I don’t think it’s normal for humans to just become part of a pack.”

“You’re part of a pack.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Because your crap has infiltrated my life, yes. But maybe this means she’s something else.”

“Like what?” Scott wonders, handing back the stack of papers.

Chewing his lip, Stiles can’t help but feel like he’s suddenly eight years old again, trying and failing to put together all the pieces of Lydia as he looks down at the report from her hospital stay. “I don’t know.”

“Alright, everybody settle down,” Ms. Blake calls out as she wanders between the desks, curiously eyeing the papers on Stiles’s desk as she walks by.

 

———

 

It’s Stiles’s idea to follow Lydia and the twins. It only makes sense when they have no idea what the twins are up to and Stiles can’t stop thinking about how the hell Lydia ended up in their pack.

They follow the black Corvette from a safe distance in the Jeep, watching the twins pick Lydia up at her old house, something that surprises Stiles endlessly because he knows that place has been empty for years. Then they head clear across town and pull into the parking lot at The Jungle.

“What the hell?” Stiles mutters, pulling around the building and parking in back.

Scott eyes the club apprehensively. “We’re not really going in there again, are we? I doubt they’re doing anything here that has to do with the sacrifices.”

“We have no idea what kind of untoward things could go on in there, Scott. We have to go in there.” 

Stiles jumps out and Scott sighs to himself before reluctantly following after. They find the back door and Scott snaps the lock off, letting them sneak into the crowded club. 

It’s not long before they find them, sidled up to the bar, Ethan looking somehow both menacing and bored as Aiden laughs at Lydia while she does a shot.

Aiden orders her another shot and then another, laughing and letting his hands roam more and more with each one she downs.

“Jesus,” Stiles hisses, feeling suddenly nauseous. 

The lights are dim but he can see her eyes swimming and her cheeks flushed, an unreadable look in her eyes as she pulls Aiden away from the bar.

“Hey,” Scott calls over the music as he nudges his arm, “Can we go? I don’t think they’re doing anything supernaturally suspicious here.”

The human shakes his head, already moving deeper into the club. “Not yet.”

Scott sighs but follows anyway. A couple songs pass before they’re able to find them in the mass of bodies. When they do, Aiden is smirking as he leads a half lidded Lydia through the crowd until he gets her into a secluded corner where he presses her against the wall.

“She’s trashed,” Scott observes. “But he doesn’t seem all there either.”

Stiles watches them carefully, catalogues the dopey smile on her lips and the way her head tips bonelessly to the side as Aiden kisses her neck. “She’s on something. He probably is too.”

“But he’s a werewolf.”

Stiles shrugs, feeling anything but indifferent. “Maybe if it’s strong enough, you can still feel it. At least for a little while.”

Aiden whispers something in Lydia’s ear and when she nods, he walks away, leaving her propped up against the wall of the club by herself as he heads back into the crowd.

Stiles doesn’t even think before he starts walking, leaving Scott behind as he crosses the club and slides up against the wall next to her. 

“Enjoying your evening?

“Huh?” she slurs and tips her head to the side, her green eyes half lidded when they land on him. “Oh. Stiles.” 

His heart flutters at hearing his name in her raspy voice, unfazed that her reaction to his sudden presence is mostly apathetic.

“Lydia,” he mimics her greeting with a quick, anxious nod of his head. “I see you and your friends have made full use of the lax judgement of the bartender here, though I can never get him to serve me so maybe he doesn’t have lax judgement but is really just judgmental overall with some kind of beauty threshold determining who of the underaged patrons can and cannot purchase an alcoholic beverage.”

Her eyes glint curiously at him as he rambles and talks animatedly with his hands. “You’re not shy anymore,” she muses when he’s finally stops, her voice so quiet he almost doesn’t catch it over the music.

His cheeks flush pink. “Things change.”

She hums her agreement and pulls her gaze from his, looking across the club and inclining her head to where Scott watches them; they both know he’s listening in. “Tell me about it.”

Stiles narrows his eyes on her, getting a bit defensive. “You know, I don’t remember you being part of a pack either.”

Frowning, she tilts her head back and lets her eyes fall closed. “Extenuating circumstances.”

“Is that why you’re in Beacon Hills?” he presses, moving closer to her. “Because it seems to me that you should be off experiencing your first few weeks of college right about now.”

That catches her attention, makes her look up at him again with confusion in her eyes until it dawns on her. “You hacked into my school records, didn’t you?” 

He simply shrugs because of course he did. It’s not like he had a choice other than to do his research on her considering the current supernatural situation and his current level of anxiety.

Scoffing at him, she shoves off the wall to storm away but stumbles on wobbly legs instead, falling toward the ground until Stiles’s arms jump out and catch her. She gapes at him, clinging to him as she finds her footing. Once she’s steady though she doesn’t let go of him, leaning just barely into him instead.

He swallows roughly and ignores how his stomach flips as his fingers curl around her waist, the warmth and weight of her in his arms making him a little unsteady as well.

“I’m taking a year off,” she suddenly concludes, failing to sound as flippant as she’s obviously trying to.

A humorless laugh falls from his lips. “To party it up and help a bunch of murdering alphas?”

“They didn’t murder those people—“

“Not talking about the sacrifices.”

She goes abruptly quiet and lowers her chin, crestfallen as she finally extracts herself from his hold to sway precariously on her own. 

Instantly Stiles feels he’s somehow said something horrifyingly wrong. “Lydia, I —“

Aiden slides up to them and settles his arm around Lydia’s waist to hold her up and Stiles words die in his throat. It takes a moment for the werewolf to notice him but then he lets out a short laugh, clearly amused by his presence 

“Didn’t take you for the club type — Stiles, was it?”

“That’s me, yep. Stiles Stilinski. And sorry, I don’t think I got your name — Asshole, was it?”

Aiden growls and Lydia places a hand on his chest to calm him, curling against his side. “Stop it, Aiden. He’s harmless and I need another drink. Come on.”

“Fine,” the alpha bites, glaring at the human before taking her hand and pulling her through the crowd. 

Stiles watches them go and doesn’t miss Lydia peek back over her shoulder at him with sadness shining in her eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for leaving kudos and comments! So there are things from the show that I don't really get into since they wouldn't have happened any differently because of Lydia's life changing but they still happened in this timeline. Just wanted to point this out because there are some season 3A things that are referenced in this and the next chapter but I don't expand on them. Hope you guys enjoy!

The police scanner on the Jeep’s dashboard crackles to life as he and Scott make their way home from lacrosse practice. The staticky voice of the dispatcher calls all units to the location of yet another body and Stiles turns the car around without a word. 

There’s a small crowd already gathering when they arrive, police tape holding them back. He can see his father on the other side but what makes him pause is the long strawberry blonde hair of the person he’s speaking with. Turning to Scott, the two of them share a look of apprehension, both of them at a loss as to why any member of Deucalion’s pack would be willing to talk to the police.

Hopping out of the Jeep and pushing his way through the crowd, Stiles waves at his father as discretely as he can until he catches his attention, giving the Sheriff a pleading look that leads to a silent conversation of pointed glares and raised brows before his father rolls his eyes and excuses himself so that his son can talk discreetly to the witness.

Immediately Stiles scrambles under the police tape and takes his father’s place in front of Lydia. Both of them narrow their gazes cautiously, sizing each other up. 

“So you’re calling 911 now? Having a change in strategy?”

Lydia shrugs, attempting to appear blasé about the whole situation. “What else is someone supposed to do when they find a body?”

“Oh, I don’t know — scream maybe?”

His sarcasm strikes a nerve and she glares at him, huffing in exasperation. “I can’t believe your father would let you compromise an investigation by pestering a witness—“

“He would when he knows the investigation is into something of the supernatural variety,” he cuts her off, his amber eyes a mix of exasperation and concern. “Now what I want to know is what was different this time. Scott didn’t hear a scream and you’ve voluntarily involved the cops. This one wasn’t like the others.”

Shivering slightly, she crosses her arms and hugs herself, trying to take a steadying breath and continue her facade of indifference. For some reason though, she can’t see the point in pretending anymore and cracks, blurting out the truth in frustration. “You want to know what was different? Fine! Neither Aiden nor Ethan were answering their phones, so I had to call 911 so someone could come deal with the body and get me the hell out of here. And I couldn’t scream because it wasn’t finished when I got here and I didn’t particularly feel like being strangled today, thank you very much.”

“You saw it?” he demands, wide eyed and gaping at her. “You saw the Darach?”

Her whole demeanor suddenly shifts, suddenly unnerved as she presses her lips together, a look he hasn’t seen on her yet. On instinct, he reaches out and gently touches her hand. 

“I - I don’t know. I saw—“

“Lydia?” Aiden’s voice stops her before she gets any further and she swiftly yanks her hand away from Stiles’s fingers as her mouth snaps shut. 

The werewolf rushes forward and pulls her into hug as if he’s never been more concerned in his life but Stiles sees the way Lydia stiffens at his touch and senses the insincerity of it all. He tries to catch her gaze, wants to know for sure that she’s really okay before he walks away but her eyes are fixed on something far off. Curiously, he follows her gaze and finds Deucalion standing in the crowd with Ethan holding his arm to guide him.

He looks back and Lydia’s eyes dart to meet his for barely a moment but it’s enough for him to see her fear. He knows she’s warning him.

“Are you okay?” Aiden questions, an underlying edge to his voice as he takes her face in his hands and continues the perfect doting boyfriend act. 

If only Stiles wasn’t close enough to see it as a threat.

Lydia nods into his hold. “I’m fine.” 

Then she’s silent, gaze dropping to the ground.

Stiles mumbles an excuse and reluctantly steps back to where his best friend is carefully watching everything transpire from the edge of the crowd.

“Something’s up,” Scott whispers as he looks suspiciously between Deucalion, Ethan, Aiden, and Lydia.

“What?” Stiles all but demands, the same worry itching at the back of his mind. “What is it?”

The werewolf shakes his head. “Not here.”

Stiles knows what he really means is not when there are other werewolves potentially listening in so he digs into his pocket and pulls out his phone before shoving it into his friend’s hands so he types.

_they don’t trust Lydia_

Stiles reads the message and instantly his heartbeat quickens because he understands how bad that is. He knows she’s in danger. 

Quickly he types back a message.

_we have to follow them_

Scott immediately nods, thankfully in complete in agreement, and the two of them head back to the Jeep and leave the scene only to park a few blocks away and wait.

Eventually the black Corvette speeds past and Stiles gives them a slight head start behind pulling out and trailing after them.

“There are only two heartbeats in that car,” Scott informs him, squeezing his eyes shut as he focuses as hard as he can on the sounds of the world around him. “One of them is really fast, like they’re nervous.”

“Or scared,” Stiles offers solemnly, not needing any further confirmation to know it’s Lydia as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel and resists the urge to catch up to them and stop this all right now. 

The Corvette crosses town and passes through neighborhoods, ending up at Lydia’s house. Stiles and Scott slow to a stop a block away just as the headlights of the Corvette cut out in the twilight.

Nothing seems to happen after that. Everything is still as the occupants of the car stay hidden away behind tinted windows that make it impossible to see what’s happening inside.

“What’s going on?” Stiles demands of his best friend, anxiously drumming his fingers on the wheel.

“They’re arguing; yelling at each other.” Scott shakes his head grimly like he’s not sure how to put in to words the severity of all he’s hearing. “He’s really pissed that she called the cops—“

A fist pounds through the passenger’s side window, abruptly shattering it into a thousand little pieces and littering the ground below it with shards of shimmering glass. Both boys freeze as the shock of the violent act washes over them but then Stiles is scrambling to get out and Scott’s arms jump out to hold him in place.

“No,” Scott hisses against his ear, wrestling him back into his seat. “You can’t go out there. She’s okay. There’s no blood, I promise. You have to stay, Stiles, okay?”

The human doesn’t answer, just breathes harshly in Scott’s tight hold as he stares at the car with his jaw set and his nostrils flared.

Another minute passes before the passenger door opens and Lydia steps calmly out, her heels crunching in the glass as she closes the door behind her. Then she squares her shoulders and lifts her chin, making her way to the front door without a glance back.

As soon as she’s closed away inside the house, Aiden peels out of the driveway and speeds off with a squeal that echoes throughout the neighborhood as he drives away.

Carefully Scott releases Stiles from his hold, keeping a hand on his shoulder. “She’s okay, man.”

“She’s _not_ okay,” Stiles argues back his gaze fixated helplessly on the towering house in front of them. 

It strikes him then that he’d simply assumed Mr. Martin had returned to Beacon Hills with his daughter, a conclusion he’d made with no evidence to back it up whatsoever, only his own experience with parents who’d never leave him on his own. Now he looks up at the dark windows of the shadowy mansion, notes the absence of another car waiting in the driveway.

“Scott? Is she alone in there?”

The werewolf follows his gaze to the house, listening for a long moment before nodding in confirmation. “Her’s is the only heartbeat inside.”

 

———

 

“I can’t believe we’re going on this trip,” Stiles bites, hands on his hips as he paces the sidewalk outside the bus.

Scott sighs, trying to hide a wince as his injured side burns. “We’re going.”

“Well, we shouldn’t be!”

“Maybe he’s right,” Allison suddenly speaks up, looking anxiously around at the disheveled members of the pack mixed in with the lacrosse team.

The werewolf turns on her, wide eyed. “Not you, too.”

“Scott, Derek just died,” Allison gently reminds him before gesturing to the bloodstains on his shirt, “and you’re clearly still healing. We should stay.”

Stubbornly he shakes his head, gesturing toward Ethan. “If he’s going, we have to go. Boyd and Isaac will kill him if we don’t.”

Sties stops pacing, gaping at his best friend. “And that would be a bad things because…?”

“We’re not killing people.”

The familiar black Corvette speeds up and all the windows are conveniently rolled down, letting them see the strawberry blonde inside when it slams to a stop with a wheel haphazardly up on the curb. She tears out of the car as soon as it’s parked and hurries over to Ethan, obviously frantic.

“Is that Lydia?” Allison questions, eyeing up the petite redhead and seeming unimpressed after all she’s heard of her. “She looks harmless.”

Scott furrows his brow, focusing on listening. “She’s telling him he should stay.”

Stiles throws up his hands in praise. “Told you she’s a genius.”

Ethan shakes his head and turns his back on Lydia, clearly not listening, leaving her fuming with her hands balled into fists at her sides. She turns to storm off when her gaze catches on Stiles and Scott and suddenly she’s heading straight for them, an annoyed Ethan reluctantly following.

“Don’t go,” she demands, focusing on Scott as she gives her warning. “It’s not safe.”

Scott raises a brow at her. “It’s just a track meet.”

Ethan mutters something and grabs Lydia’s arm, trying to pull her away but she shoves him back and stands strong. “You won’t make it there. The Darach, it’s going to try to kill you tonight.”

“Lydia-“

“Don’t go!” she bellows looking emphatically between Stiles and Scott, begging them to listen to her. “None of you should go!”

Her outburst catches the attention of other, non-supernatural students and suddenly all of them are staring, watching her like she’s absolutely insane. Even Stiles can hear the whispers starting as they try to remember if she’s the one who’s mom was running around naked in the woods in elementary school but Lydia doesn’t seem to notice.

“Please listen to me!”

Ethan finally gets a hold of Lydia and drags her away and Stiles grits his teeth to try to keep himself in check until he finally snaps, stomping after them and pushing past Scott when he tries to stop him. He reaches Lydia’s side just as Ethan lets her go and growls at her to leave now and Stiles glares murderously at him as he walks away. 

When he turns back to Lydia, she’s already getting back in the car to leave.

“Whoa Lydia, wait—“

“You have to believe me, Stiles,” she urges and hesitates inside the open car door, her green eyes still fraught. “Stay here. Stop all the werewolves from going.”

“How do you know what’s going to happen?”

“This is what I do,” she says with a melancholic edge. “It’s all I can do besides scream.”

His shakes his head to himself, completely at a loss. “What are you?”

She shakes her head, the corner of her mouth twisting up regretfully. “Just trust me, okay?”

Without another word she gets in the car and drives away, leaving Stiles’s gaping after her. 

Scott steps up to his side and Stiles can tell that his best friend’s resolve is shaken. He knows he’s finally rethinking his plan. 

Silently they all watch Ethan get on the bus but Isaac and Boyd stand on the side walk, waiting for Scott’s decision.

“We stay,” Scott finally concludes. “All of us stay.”

 

———

 

It’s way too late when a knock on his bedroom door breaks him from his his research spiral. He reluctantly pulls his gaze from his laptop as his mom peaks in, her robe pulled tight over her shoulders while she blinks sleep from her eyes.

“Your father just called. Said he heard over the radio there was a student killed on a school trip tonight.”

Stiles sits up straighter. “Ethan?”

His mother nods solemnly and lets herself into the room, settling on the edge of his bed. “I’m guessing since you already knew who it would be that he was supernaturally gifted in some way.”

“Alpha werewolf. Potentially evil.”

She frowns in motherly concern, an all too common expression for her, and wrings her hands together in her lap as she gets lost in her thoughts.

Stiles sighs and runs his hands over his face. “I need to call Scott. Tell him Lydia was right.”

“Lydia?” she repeats, interest piqued. “Not _the_ Lydia? Lydia Martin?”

With a small shrug, he tries to play it off like it’s no big deal, though he’s not sure he’s ready to admit even to himself yet just how monumental her reappearance really is. “She’s been back in town for a couple weeks.”

“I can’t believe this is the first I’m hearing about this,” she admonishes, her worried features easing with fond nostalgia. “You were in love with her for awhile there.”

He rolls his eyes. “I was _eight_.”

“And then when you were nine, ten, and eleven…”

He feels his cheeks flush and he ducks his head to hide his face.

Claudia’s lip turns up in amusement at her son for a moment before her turning pensive again. “How is she doing?”

“I don’t really know,” he admits after a moment. “Not too well, I don’t think.”

“Poor girl.” She shakes her head to herself. “I guess how can you be okay when you lose your mother like that.”

He lifts his gaze in confusion, furrowing his brow. “How did she die? I don’t think I ever knew what happened to her.”

“No, you were too young to know the truth,” her mother agrees with a frown. “Natalie had been suffering with mental illness for a long time; hearing voices and struggling with depression. Your father was called so many times because someone found her wandering aimlessly through town or in the woods but she could never remember how she got there. Eventually her husband had no choice other than to have her admitted to Eichen House but they weren’t able to help. She committed suicide after being there only a few weeks.”

“Oh,” Stiles breathes, swallowing roughly as he absorbs the information and feels his heart ache as he adds it to all the fragmented pieces of Lydia’s life he’s gathered.

“I should go check on her,” he abruptly decides, already pushing himself out of his desk chair. “She was friends with Ethan and I’m pretty sure she’s dating his evil twin.”

“I thought you said Ethan was evil?”

“Aiden is eviler.”

“Ah, I see,” his mother says as she rises to her feet and steps forward to pull him into a hug. “Don’t stay out too long. And be careful, okay?”

He hugs her back tight. “Of course.”

 

———

 

Lydia opens the door to him with her green eyes wide and her skin ghostly pale. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Thrown off by her blunt greeting and rendered momentarily speechless by the sight of her in a short, low-cut nightgown, all the delicate lead up to the news he’d been rehearsing on the drive over disappears as he simply nods in confirmation. 

Immediately she turns on her heel, retreating quickly back into her house and leaving the door wide open behind her, which Stiles decides to take as an invitation to follow after her.

“I told him. I told him what would happen but did he listen? No. Why would you listen to a messenger of death when she’s telling you you’re going to die?”

Stiles furrows his brow. “You’re a messenger of death?”

Abruptly she stops and turns back to him and Stiles barely manages to stop himself from barreling straight into her, gaping at her and the moisture building in her eyes. 

“A banshee.”

His heart stutters at the word, his mind flashing with half remembered details from the beastiary. “You’re a banshee?”

“Deucalion doesn’t want anyone to know what I am,” she continues bitterly. “He thinks someone will try to steal his rare, _precious_ little treasure from him; thinks a banshee is the perfect addition to his pack— the canary in the coal mine to let them all know when things are getting too dangerous.”

“You don’t sound too thrilled about the partnership.”

“It’s _not_ a partnership.”

He raises a brow. “Then what is it?”

Lydia sighs and shakes her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” he challenges, stepping closer.

Ignoring him, she falls silent and simply turns around, beginning to move through the house again.

“He’s the bad guy, Lydia,” Stiles tries again, rushing to follow her as she climbs the stairs to the second floor. “Your whole pack are the bad guys. _You’re_ not one of the bad guys.”

He hears her scoff and is pretty sure she rolls her eyes, though he can’t see her face to confirm. “How would you even begin to know that about me?”

“I just do.”

They enter a room with a bed in the corner that’s made up with a plain, beige comforter and a few scattered pillows. The rest of the room is nearly overtaken by cardboard boxes, some of them sitting haphazardly open and some of them taped shut, with narrow paths left between them that create trails from the bed to the adjoining bathroom and to the door. He watches as she begins rifling through boxes until pulling out a few pieces of clothing to assemble an outfit. Only then does it occur to him that they’re standing in her bedroom, a thought that strikes him as thoroughly depressing.

She drops the clothes on her bed and takes hold of the bottom of her nightgown without warning, starting to tug it upwards as Stiles flails and spins around to protect her modesty with his pulse racing.

A few moments pass as she changes and silence hovers over the room, giving him the chance to rethink her question and the answer he gave her that was nowhere near good enough.

“I know you’re not one of the bad guys because you told us what you knew was going to happen tonight when you didn’t have to. You saved our lives.”

She steps in front of him dressed in a short, flowered dress with a brown leather jacket pulled over her shoulders and heeled boots up to her knees.

Her gaze is intensely probing and it makes him suddenly nervous. He forces himself to hold eye contact with her as he says again with every ounce of conviction he has, “You’re not one of the bad guys.”

Her gaze softens and she lifts a shoulder in a small shrug, seeming uncertain. “Does it really matter?”

“It’s gotta matter,” he answers emphatically. “Otherwise what is the point of all this?”

“Exactly.” 

She swipes up her purse and then she’s walking again, leaving Stiles no choice but to follow.

“You’re going to see Aiden, aren’t you?”

“I have to,” she says, resigned, as she descends the stairs. “His brother died. And if I don’t go there, he’s going to come here and find your scent. Then we’re both dead.”

He grits his jaw, shaking his head. “Lydia—“

“I don’t need you to worry about me, Stiles. I can take care of myself.”

“I have no doubt that you can, but that doesn’t mean I can’t worry.”

They reach the doorway and she pauses to look back at him, her eyes darting over his face as she contemplates something. Finally she settles her gaze to meet his, her green eyes warm in a way that makes him feel like a little kid, standing in front of her with a fistful of flowers and his heart on his sleeve. 

“Thank you for listening to me.”

His stomach flips and he opens his mouth, wanting to say something in return to her heartfelt words. Too fast though she’s walking away and he’s left hovering in her doorway, watching her drive away into the night with his heart in his throat.


	4. Chapter 4

The sacrifices continue, the time between each of them getting shorter and shorter as the body count keeps rising. 

Of course, Lydia is always the one to find them, her unique talent of finding bodies no longer a mystery now that Stiles knows the truth of what she really is. Her method of alerting others varies, sometimes she screams, sometimes she calls the police, but what becomes consistent is that every times Stiles is one of the first ones there. He’s always the one to pull her away when her green eyes refuse to waver from the scene.

Each time he notices her getting foggier, the hollow look in her eyes becoming more and more consuming with every death she feels.

Stiles notices too how much things have changed between her and Aiden since his brother’s death. He sees the way the alpha’s jaw clenches when he looks at her, witnesses how short he is with her, knows how he’s always ready to snap at the littlest thing.

“Her chemo signals are off,” Isaac comments when they’re gathered outside the school one morning watching Lydia and Aiden whispering on the edge of the parking lot. “She smells weird.”

Scott nods, hesitantly adding, “She smells like she did that night at the club.”

Stiles swallows roughly, stomach churning with worry at the thought.

“The club?” Isaac repeats with a laugh. “Oh, I gotta hear about this.”

“It’s not funny, Isaac.” Stiles grounds out, glaring at the werewolf as Scott’s phone rings.

The werewolf is tense as soon as he answers the phone, falling into a stilted conversation that Stiles can only hear half of. 

“Deaton is being taken,” Scott relays to them in quiet disbelief when he hangs up, face pale as he stares numbly at his phone.

Stiles furrows his brow. “Taken as in…”

Scott swallows roughly, pocketing his phone with a trembling fingers. “Sacrificed.”

“Did he say where?” Isaac cuts in, sighing when Scott shakes his head. “We should go to the clinic then, right? Look for clues.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Scott agrees, seeming to snap into focus. “There must be something there we can follow. And we can get his scent there, too.”

Isaac nods and the two werewolves head for the parking lot but Stiles stays rooted to his spot, his mind working with an idea.

“Stiles?”

He looks up and his best friend is eyeing him expectantly as he pauses a few feet away.

The human’s eyes trail back to the Corvette where Lydia and Aiden are still talking, before snapping back to Scott. “I’ll be right behind you, I promise. I just want to see if there’s another way to find him.”

Scott nods in understanding as he backs away toward Isaac and his bike. “Call me if you find anything!”

Stiles watches the two of them go and then heads toward the parking lot himself, hovering by the Corvette to watch on impatiently as Aiden and Lydia finish their hushed conversation. 

Finally, the werewolf heads for the school and Lydia wanders back to the car but her shoulders stiffen when her gaze catches on him, already steeling herself against whatever words are about to come out of his mouth. 

“Stiles—“

“Deaton’s been taken.”

The strawberry-blonde pauses, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Deaton? The emissary?”

“Yes, the emissary. _Scott’s_ emissary, and boss, and father-figure—“ he stops himself when he realizes he’s beginning to ramble in panic, forcing himself to focus. “Do you know where he is?”

“Do I know — Why are you asking me?” she demands in disbelief. “I have nothing to do with these deaths, Stiles, I just —“

“Find the bodies, I know,” he cuts her off gently, eyes softening as he steps closer to her. “You’ve found all the bodies that have been sacrificed but we know who the next one is this time. I thought maybe that could help jump start the process, help you figure it out before they die—“

“I can’t.” She shakes her head, her green eyes suddenly shining. “I wish I could. I really, really wish I could — you have to believe me. But I can’t.”

She goes to step around him toward the car and Stiles reaches out to wrap his hand around her wrist and stop her.

“But can’t you just—“

Lydia winces at his touch, her features momentarily screwing in pain.

Everything in Stiles freezes at her reaction. Horrified, his gaze drops to where his fingers remain still snug but gentle around the sleeve of her jacket.

“What — _What was that?_ ”

She tugs her arm from his grasp and squares her shoulders, leveling him with a glare. “None of your business.”

“Lydia,” he breathes in disbelief because he _knows_ , but all he can do is watch with barely contained rage boiling beneath his skin as she ignores him and walks away, climbing into the car without another glance in his direction. “Lydia, come on!”

The engine revs and all he can do is watch his hands on his hips, his jaw tight as she pulls away and speeds out of the parking lot.

 

———

 

The brakes squeal on the Jeep as he slams to a stop in front of the loft, barely turning off the engine before headlights flash in his rearview mirror and the Corvette suddenly pulls in behind them.

His pulse jumps when he catches Cora’s claws already extending at the appearance of the familiar vehicle, her whole body tensing before she launches out of the passenger seat with her teeth bared ready to strike.

“Wait! Cora—“ Stiles scrambles out after her, barely able to jump in front of the werewolf before she attacks Lydia on the spot.

“Someone is dying!” the banshee bellows at them, frantic and out of breath, completely oblivious to her immediate danger or anything but the voices screaming inside her skull. “Upstairs — Someone is dying right now!”

Her frenzied words make the werewolf pause, her brow furrowing as she turns her glowing gaze to Stiles.

“She knows,” he regretfully assures her. “If she says someone is dying, then it’s happening.”

Cora blinks, her mind working as she scrutinizes the strawberry-blonde before abruptly turning around and sprinting for the building behind her.

Stiles calls after her and races to catch up, vaguely comforted by the constant click of Lydia’s heels he can hear trailing behind him.

They stop in the doorway and a sob rips from Cora’s throat, her whole body shaking at the sight before her. Stumbling into the shallow water flooding the room, she falls to her knees at Boyd’s side, pulling his head into her lap and shaking him in a desperate attempt to wake him.

Swallowing roughly, Stiles gingerly follows after her, the weight of Boyd’s death hitting him hard as he watches the scene unfold with his heart caught in his throat. Carefully he places his hand on Derek’s shoulder, squeezing gently as the older man quietly cries at the blood staining his hands.

Eventually he lifts his gaze and let’s his eyes trail across the room, taking in a shaken Miss Blake curled against Isaac, and then settling on Lydia holding herself up against the door frame, still and pale as she stares transfixed on Cora and Boyd.

Moments pass and she must sense him watching her because her green eyes flit to his, her lower lip quivering when their eyes meet.

Swiftly she drops her chin to her chest before stumbling back on shaky legs, turning and fleeing the scene as fast as she can.

 

———

 

It’s hours before Stiles leaves Derek’s loft, spending most of the night huddled with their small pack. He watches Cora breakdown as her brother pulls her away from Boyd; watches his father take the required statements that they all know are lies; watches the corner take away the body.

He promised his dad he would go straight home but he just can’t, not when he can’t get the broken look on Lydia’s face out of his head. He needs to make sure she’s alright first.

The Corvette is in the driveway and there’s a hint of light visible through the curtains in one of the windows on the first floor but the rest of the house is dark. He wonders briefly if maybe she’s asleep but somehow knows she’s not, not after how she left.

Rapping his fingers against her front door, he lets out a heavy breath as he waits on her darkened porch. It’s so silent and still, no movement from inside so he knocks harder, pounding his fist against the wood. 

Still nothing.

Anxiety rising, he tentatively tries the doorknob, pushing it open when it gives way.

“Lydia?” he calls out and peeks inside, taking in the dimly lit house. It’s eerily quiet as he lets himself in, clicking the door closed behind him. “It’s Stiles. I didn’t break in - technically just trespassing - but with good intentions, I swear!”

He heads for the stairs, intent on checking her room, but when he sees nothing but darkness looming on the second floor, he decides to check the lighted rooms on the first floor instead.

The kitchen is empty, as is the study. He heads for the living room and freezes when he steps around the couch, paralyzed by panic as his whole world grinds to a abrupt halt at the sight of her sprawled across the hardwood floor.

“Lydia—” he chokes out her name when he can finally get himself to move, rushing forward and stumbling to his knees at her side. He brackets her pale face in his trembling hands and gently shakes her. “Lydia, wake up!”

Straightaway he thinks Aiden did this to her, is beyond positive the alpha hurt her, but there are no bruises marring her face or neck and no blood in sight, leaving him at a loss, panicking over what is wrong and what he can do to help her.

He shakes her again and her head lolls to the side, his heart stuttering as it registers for the first time just how still she is.

“W-Why does it look like you’re not breathing?”

He leans in close with his ear hovering near her mouth, trying to feel or hear a breath but finding nothing.

“Because you aren’t breathing, are you?” he murmurs, his heart hammering in his chest as he absolutely panics. “Oh god. No, no, no, _no_. Why are you not breathing? _Come on, Lydia…_ ”

Instantly he’s on her, tilting her head back and pinching her nose, breathing air into her lungs.

_“Lydia…”_

He begins compressions, trying desperately to focus on the first aid training his mother had insisted he take after he’d come clean about the supernatural and she realized just how much danger his life was really in. He’d thought it was pointless, nearly everyone else can heal but him. He’s beyond thankful for it now.

He fills her lungs with another deep breath.

“Breathe, Lydia. _Please breathe…_ ”

Two more rounds of compressions and two more breaths and he’s shaking, tears shining in his eyes as he hovers at the edge of a complete breakdown.

Tilting her head back, he presses his lips over hers and breathes into her again when he feels her shift. Shooting up to give her space, his tears spill over as her body reflexively breathes in with a soft whimper.

Raptly he watches her take her first few uneven breaths, her lashes fluttering briefly before settling against her pale skin once again.

Swallowing roughly, he digs into his pocket and pulls out his cellphone with unsteady fingers. He dials 911 and gives the operator all the information he has, which is disturbingly little, and quietly begs them to _hurry_ before hanging up.

Shakily, he reaches out and takes her hand, his eyes lifting from the slow rise and fall of her chest for the first time. He hastily wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve before trailing his gaze over every inch of her, hoping to find some clue to tell him what’s happened to her. He finds nothing though, and turns to sweep his gaze around the room when his eyes catch on something on the corner of the nearby coffee table.

Carefully he pushes himself to his knees, leaning over Lydia and taking hold of a small plastic baggie. It’s completely empty, it could be mean absolutely nothing, but suddenly all he can think of is Scott so sure that her chemosignals had been off; that’d she’d smelled the way she had at the club when she was clearly on something. Stiles closes his fist around the plastic and wonders what the hell she’d been thinking when she took whatever was in it before.


End file.
